


A merry Halloween story

by Diane Marling (Lauredessine)



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: American Horror Story References, Cats, Creepypasta, Ghost Hunters, Ghost Stories, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Horror, I wrote this in two days, Other, Pumpkins, Witch Hunters, Witchcraft, Witches, creepy town, horror stories, i wanted to make this into a real story but so many things are to be told, or the witch hunter thingy, so forgive me for the shittiest short story ever made, so idk whether to focus on the creation of the coven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 12:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauredessine/pseuds/Diane%20Marling
Summary: In Halloween's eve, Ingrid a young witch, sees a man entering her coffee house. It is the firest time the man ever steps in town and Ingrid is pleased to tell him of her town's rich horrific history.





	A merry Halloween story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CeridwenofWales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/gifts), [DaizyDoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaizyDoe/gifts).



 

 

 

****

 

 

 

 

“This is Halloween! This is Halloween! Halloween! Halloween” sang the radio.

“Halloween! Halloween!” hummed Ingrid, blending some pumpkin spice latte for her clients while water boiled in the kettle and the teapot waited for it. “Fright tonight sets all things right.” she smiled.

The room she was in was her family's coffee shop. At this time of year it was full and many came by to taste pumpkin-based delicacies – pumpkin pies, pumpkin cakes, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin roast pumpkin, pumpkin and pumpkin. Others came for tea – a black tea with Christmas spices and orange peel – or bread, or cider or honey, or mead, or gingerbread, or candies, or merely to pay for their apple of squash pickings. Some other, rarer, came to buy a Halloween honey coming from hives – it was a chestnut-tree honey. The family's products were all autumn-oriented. It was only natural that so many people would fill the café.

Jack-o lanterns lined all over the counter and the kitchen, some even hanged from the high Victorian roof and Ingrid had kept a full load of candies waiting for children to summon when they would go trick or treating. Ingrid turned around to the large square kitchen, the central table made of solid oak and its jars of honey and marmalade, the ceramic sink, the surrounding workbench, the multiples shelving units and the oven on which boiled a cauldron.

Ingrid bowed down to greet one of the many cats roaming the house – yet another thing to attract tourists and customers – and pet it gently behind its ears making it purr. She stirred what was in the cauldron; a thick and smooth pumpkin and chestnut soup.

The black cat meowed. Ingrid laughed. “Yes, yes. Would you like some fish with it?” The cat meowed.

Ingrid went to fetch some milk in the refrigerator and poured it in a cup she put on the tiling. She murmured and cooed at it and pet its back.

“Warm the hearth and warm the heart; warm eaters through skillful art. Blessed be craft and blessed be thus; for winter's here to fast-freeze us. May beverage so warm bring some rest; provide and grant a good harvest.” Ingrid chanted around. “Protect women, protect children; men and their domains; from evil I implore thee; may summer they can see.” she dropped some spices in the soup and smiled as its aroma filled the room.

“Your soup smells as delicious as ever.” said a woman at the counter, drinking some tea.

Ingrid smiled and fetched the kettle that started to seethe. “And you shall drink a gallon of it, Mrs. Evans, as each year you do.”

Mrs. Evans – an aged woman with many wrinkles but all laughing ones and hair striped with gray – gave a laugh, yellow teeth showing. “You damn right I do! Mr. Evans shall drink it too.”

Ingrid smile grew softer. “As always, I suppose.” she poured the boiling water in the teapot. “Do you miss him?”

Mrs. Evans turned her ring on her finger. “Every damn day. A year and I still haven't recovered.” she gave a brave grin. “Well, Clarence told me not to weep him. He made it pretty clear that he wanted to see me smile more in the afterlife. He said he would not bear my face losing a smile. That's what I do. I remember him and honor him in death.”

“He did love your smile. Your laugh, also.”

Mrs. Evans laughed. “Well the man was in love with me that's for sure. Oh Clarence. I miss you, my darling.”

Ingrid smiled and leaned on tho Mrs. Evans with a knowing face – that she had when she spilled secrets. “You can see him though.” she whispered. “For tonight is Halloween's eve and anything is possible in Halloween: even seeing the dead. I heard they come at night to visit those they loved.”

Mrs. Evans chuckled. “Well, I suppose I shall not hope for that. Clarence would hate what I did to his mother's ugly lamp.”

Ingrid laughed. “Do you want more tea?”

“No, no dear. But I could use a biscuit or two.”

“Coming right up!” Ingrid said as she headed for the kitchen.

“Hey! Ingrid!” someone called. “Ingrid!”

“Ava!” Ingrid left the cookies on Mrs. Evans' plate and walked round the counter to greet her friend, standing in the middle of the hall covered with a thick and ancient carpet while people photographed the massive staircase leading upstairs. The door closed with a gale of wind that startled the tourists and Ava laughed.

“Works every time.” she whispered to Ingrid.

Ingrid snorted.

Ava was a small buxom woman with a deep dark warm brown skin and deep dark eyes and deep dark curly hair tied in two buns and a bright wide smile. Ingrid loved it when she smiled. Her eyes beamed with laughter. Ava was as joyful as Mrs. Evans. For sure she was her niece!

“Hey you!” Ava bent to a black cat with a white tip on its tail. “What's his name today?” she said, petting it.

“Black death.” Ingrid said. “Yesterday it was Black Sabbath.”

Ava laughed. “You need a permanent name, don't you.” she cooed.

The cat meowed. Ingrid chuckled. “So you are yet again on a tour?”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Ugh! Yes! Amazing how people loves scaring themselves to death. A few hung witches, a few vampires and werewolves, ghosts and murderers and whoops! Halloweentown!”

Ingrid laughed. “I mean.... We do hear laments in the woods and in the old Mason house over there, at the very beginning of the forest and end of the town. And the church did burn and it did hosted a satanic sect for a while. And we do have that creepy maze with all the scarecrows. And we do had several serial killers hiding over here on their murdering spree.”

“You trying to scare me? Cos' girl, that ain't gonna happen!”

Ingrid smiled. “You and I both know you can't be scared of anything.”

“True that!”

“After you're done, do you mind coming by around midnight? You know, before the ceremony...” Ingrid whispered.

“I'll bring my runes.” Ava whispered back. “And a cape or two. Do you mind scaring trick-or-treaters? Tonight's the night.”

“Only the assholes.” Ingrid precised.

“Naturlisch!” Ava said. “Now, if you'll excuse me; I need to make them wet their pants.” she turned away and clapped her hands and began to speak with her most mystic voice, telling of how the house was haunted by the first wife of its first owner whom he had killed and later brought death to all its owners until the year 2001 when Ingrid's family bought it. She told that a white ghost still roamed the house, desperate to bring havoc and harm to those she deemed unfaithful lovers and abusers.

If anything, Ingrid thought that ghost friendly and just in her claims. She had seen that woman several time in her wedding dress – it was always the wedding dress – and she had always behaved with the utmost civil manner. Sure she had haunted her at night and children had appeared staring at her in her sleep and screams had awoken her frequently, but it was nothing that could be helped. No exorcism had ever kept the ghost out. Instead Ingrid had fended with hung corpses, wails of infants and laughter of children and visions of horror involving blood and organs and creepy fleshless smiles. It was a relief her mothers and sisters had seen them and knew how to cope with it.

From times to times they rattled the floor upstairs, often when customers drank and ate, but it only added to fame and renown and Ingrid was pleased to see that clients came as regularly as ever. Seldom were the screams but when they echoed across the old building, people would smile with awe and shiver with fright. It was part of the town after all.

The soup was done. Ingrid put it out of the fire and checked Mrs. Evans out and looked around the vast room that used to be a dining room, the old chartreuse flowery tapestries still covering the walls, the dark wooden floor covered with carpets and carpeting. The high narrow windows were covered with a velvet fabric that smelled of dust and rose. A few clients remained in the room, chatting hearteningly while the light of the lantern on their table flickered gloomily.

If it were up to Ingrid, she would get rid of the antique decor to paint a new one, more minimalistic and modern. But her mothers had specifically said no, for they wished the atmosphere here to remain the same. Ingrid understood, of course, because it brought in more clients, but still, she grew queasy looking at them.

She headed back to her counter, crossing the dining room and the glass room furnished with plants of all kind. It was a thing of another of her mothers, plants, herbs and potions.

“Keep the fort.” she said to a cat. “Come to me if anyone checks out. I need to inspect the fields.”

She put on her thick warm socks and her boots, put on a thick long coat lined with synthetic fur, put on a scarf and a beanie that matched her oversize jumper. Her flaxen hair twirled in the wind and she shook from the cold of October. She nestled deeper in her scarf and strolled around the house to the fields; gray muddy fields colored by scattered orange patches. Her family grew pumpkin squashes for Halloween, of course, but also Butternut squash and Sugar Pie pumpkins and Ambercup squashes and Acorns and golden-nugget squash, as well as red apples and chestnuts and pear trees. The hives were down the hill, where no one went because it was there they said a witch had been hanged. Ingrid tended to keep the legend. The farthest people were from the hives the better. After all, she was a fierce defender of her bees.

Ridden of their leaves, the knobbly chestnut trees looked like giant gloomy hands trying to grasp at the sky and the maze left of the house, bordering the forest was all but a happy place. The house itself was far remote, but close enough to the main road so that a yellow school-bus came every morning while there were still children to pick them up for school.

Ingrid picked up an apple and bit it gazing to the railroad bridge over the river. She wondered if it would take her elsewhere too, like that had been the case with her sisters.

She turned away and gazed at the house, this tall towering building made of blackened wood. It was a Victorian manor with a tower and a high steep roof, a large porch surrounding the ensemble. A long barn-like house was attached to it in a most harmonious manner. It was there Ingrid's family lived, there they brew potions and cast spells. It was there they had decided to move after the ghost of the house turned poltergeist.

It was a charming house despite it all. And Ingrid loved most laying on the floor, listening to the wooden house crack in a mystical symphony.

She looked around and saw that many of those gathering squashes and apples were done. She headed back inside and was welcome with a wave of warmth that made her shiver with delight.

She checked out some customers and, roaming the dining room, saw that no one was left and that they had all gone away. Ingrid sighed as a soft orange light filled the house. It was dusk already. Ava was gone and in a few hours, both, dressed in black, would attend their yearly mass.

Ingrid danced around as the radio blasted old tunes and eerie sounds. She suddenly stopped as she heard the tingling of the bell announcing a new customer.

“At such a late hour?” she said. “Hello?” she came out of the dining room to the hall.

A man stood in the entrance of the house. He looked like a lumberjack with his lumberjack flannel and his lumberjack boots. He was a massive man a tad too tall and a bit too muscular. A scar cut his lower lip in half and another striped his left eyebrow. He bore a brown beard and brown hair tied in a knot and his complexion was of a fair caramel. Ingrid lingered over his massive arms and bit her lips imagining his muscles in action.

He walked around purposeful and looked at every angles of the hall. He seemed a calm man.

“My I help you?” asked Ingrid.

The man turned around and smiled. He was about her age, although a tad older. “Is it still possible to eat there?”

Ingrid shrugged. “I guess. But you're in luck there's no one around or else I would have had to cast you out. We don't usually make exceptions.”

“It is still early.” the man said.

“Early for you, not for me.” she headed back to the counter. “We have soup. I'll have to heat it up but it's still good.”

The man sat at the counter. “Do you have beer?”

“Pumpkin beer yes. And cookies if you want to.”

“I suppose that'll do.” Three cats came to sit on the counter, startling him. “Wow!” he exclaimed before petting them – the black one, Black death and an orange puffy one. “Well aren't you cute little kitties. I must confess, I am more a dog person.”

Ingrid stirred the soup in a sweet gargling symphony. A bit of froth rose up and Ingrid lowered the heat. “We own something like ten cats here. Most of them roam the pumpkin patches outside and hunt in the forest at night but those three are house cats through and through.”

“That's a lot of cats.” said the man, impressed. “How did you pick out so many names?”

“That one in the middle has no name. Today he is Black death. Next to him that's Salem.” she pointed to the black cat. “And the orange one is Pumpkin. He's a bit of a diva.” she poured the soup in a bowl she handed to him when her phone started vibrating in her pocket. “I have to take this.”

The man nodded.

“Hello?” she said, pressing the phone against her ear in the kitchen.

_“Hi, Ingrid?”_

“Hey Kenzie, girl!” Ingrid smiled. “Are you still coming at midnight?”

_“Yeah, yeah, no doubt of that. I was just calling to tell you that I might not be able to come before midnight, due to an... incident.”_

“Oh no, what happened?” Ingrid frowned.

_“It's Sue-Helen. She's at it again.”_

“Ugh! Can't she just go already? She's been haunting your house for what... three centuries?”

 _“I know, right! But the girl's all weeping and shit and I sacrificed by best candies for this bitch! She's running around crying that her Tommy didn't like her, that she's a poor little girl. I am so tired of comforting her every night.”_ Ingrid heard her put the phone away. _“Yes Sue-Helen! I am talking about you! Oh don't you dare giving me those eyes missy!”_

“She haunting you again?”

Kenzie sighed. _“Yeah. Anyway, I need to cook her something. I was thinking a space cake. That might be able to cheer her up.”_

“Drugs? Nah. Give her a bowl of sugar, that'll do.”

_“You sure?”_

“Yeah. Also, listen to her and tell her it's gonna be okay. And for fuck sake put her in front of some romantic movie and let her lust over dudes on your tinder. God knows girl needs it!” Ingrid chuckled. “With any luck she'll turn into a lust-ergeist.”

Kenzie burst in laughter on the phone. _“Will do. Can't wait for tonight. Dress in black! Don't forget your cape!”_

“Ava's gonna give it to me, don't worry.”

 _“As if I did!”_ Kenzie said. _“Okay, gotta go now, Sue-Helen needs tissues.”_

Ingrid sighed. “Ugh! White ghosts!”

_“I knoooooow! Hey, are your moms in town?”_

“No. They're visiting Astrid in New Orleans. She's finally starting this boarding school I told you about.”

_“Nice! How are your sisters by the way?”_

“I got seldom news but I can tell you that Lauren enjoys Boston the best she can and that Hailey finally moved in San Francisco with her boyfriend. I won't be surprised if they get married soon. Mom would surely disapprove but she knows not to judge too harshly.”

_“Does that mean we got the house for ourselves?”_

“It sure does!” Ingrid's smile was wide.

_“Yassssss! Well, see you tonight then.”_

“Yeah. Bye!”

“A friend of yours?” the man asked while drinking his beer.

Ingrid hung up and smiled. “The best! She and I have been friends ever since kindergarten.”

“What was that ghost talk?” he frowned.

Ingrid chuckled. “You heard that? Why, your hearing must be good then.”

“The best on this side of Massachusetts.”

“You're from the state? I've never seen you before.” she frowned.

He stirred on his seat quietly. “Why, yes. I mean, I come from Maine and due to... recent events, I had to move and I chose this state. I am new in town though. I was willing to move in today but I got lost.”

“Where are you moving in?” Ingrid asked as she lit more jack'o-lanterns.

“Downtown.” he said. “Hey, are you lighting more pumpkins? This place is already fire hazard enough.”

Ingrid laughed. “Nothing I can't do, trust me. In any case, the ghost of the house will take care that the house does not burn.”

He blanched and gave a scoff. “A ghost? Do you believe in that shit?”

A door slammed upstairs and he startled. Ingrid smiled. “Does this answer your question?”

“It could be a gale of air.” he squinted.

“Oh, you'll believe soon enough, my dude. When you live here there is no resisting belief in supernatural stuff.” she poured herself some more tea. “Most people do and those who don't usually don't last long.” she sipped her tea as light dimmed. “I advise you to stay away from the old church and the graveyard in the forest. Those are really creepy. Though at the age of sixteen every teenager must spend a night there to prove they're brave enough to keep living here.”

“That's a terrible tradition.” the man said. “Why would you guys bully each other?”

Ingrid shrugged. “It's a tradition. In any case, we see that no one gets hurt. No one has died since 1970 and none have gone in a psychiatric hospital since 1986. People are getting less scared, I think. Or more anxious and resistant. After all, what could be more terrifying than our political landscape?” she sipped her tea. “Now, _that's_ a horror movie come true.”

“Yeah.” the guy drank more beer. “You're not wrong.”

“Anyway, our town is renowned to be the most haunted town of America. Not even Salem can compete. Not you.” she rolled her eyes, talking to her cat. “I can't count the number of witches hanged and burned here, the number of dead and insane people, the number of ghosts and haunted mansions. It could give someone a heart attack. Though, you may want to stay away from the Mason mansion. Your dwelling will probably have a ghost haunting it anyway.”

“What's so special about the Mason mansion?” he asked.

Ingrid leaned to him with her wicked smile that made her listeners blemish. “It's the most haunted house over here. You can hear terrible screams at night and no one has ever lived here since 1920. The mansion seems to be about to crumble down every seconds, but it still holds on. Legends says that it is the ghosts that keep it together.”

The guy shook his beer. “Spooky.”

“Well, it is always less spooky than that asylum up the hill. Legend says that children still haunt it. A youtuber made a video about it last year and he shat his pants.” she laughed. “Some dudes on the Internet can't even watch it without crying. Legend has it that if you watch the video, a ghost will come to haunt you and a demon will take possession of your soul.”

“What happened in that Mason mansion for it to be so terrible?” he asked.

Ingrid gave a sly smile, lighting yet again a pumpkin. “Oh, many things.” she said, almost whispering. “The place was build on a former church that burned with all its attenders and then its owners were haunted by poltergeists so intense the house itself shook. It was giving up screams of terror and the family that lived here went mad and the mother hung herself, the father shot himself to death after he had slit his children's throat. The story doesn't end here. Ten years later, it was bought again by that sweet couple and the woman started to hear whispers at night, creaking doors and wood and saw children staring at her in the middle of the night. She constantly felt peered at. She spoke to her husband about what she saw but the man, like all men, didn't believe her and called her a fool. One night, when they were asleep, they were awoken by screams of terror and gunshots. No one was in the house. No one was outside. Knobbly trees danced in the wind and outside it felt as though a multitude whispered curses.”

The man blanched. Ingrid smiled.

“The woman started to shake and something dragged her across the bedroom. The mark of her nails keeping a hold on the floor is still visible. The husband screamed and screamed and screamed again as his wife's head jerked back and her eyes began to roll in their socket as if she was possessed. He called a priest and then the whole thing seemed to calm down. But about a year later it all started again. The wife had delivered a beautiful and plump child she loved very much, but that night, she began to shake again and levitated around, laughing like a damned, her eyes rolling and her head jerked back. She killed her child and drank his blood. Her husband had no choice but to kill her so he shot her but she wouldn't die. With an ax, she struck his skull and drew strange words on the walls. 'kill me!' she wrote. 'we're all dead here' followed, but it wasn't her writing. In the morning, she hung herself.” she grinned.

“When was it?” he asked.

“Something like 1899.” she said.

“So it doesn't end there.” he deduced.

“No. Indeed.” she sat by the counter. “The house had been declared a hazard by the state who wanted to cover those dark stories, but then, it started again, fifteen years later. The owners were newcomers, Russian Jews fleeing Russia. They knew nothing of their house's history and no one in town told them about it, being themselves very antisemitic. A witch cursed them at the time. I wonder if it was because of how racist they were.” she snapped. “Anyway, so the couple settles in and for the first years of their dwelling there, nothing happens. The wife is a good woman and had about three children by the time.

“He last one, a girl, seems to hear something at night and is constantly awoken by nightmares, but her mother doesn't seem to be concerned by it. She thinks it is just momentary. But the more she grows up, the more she suddenly look blankly at a tapestry, smiles to nowhere, wave at people that are not here. She mentions a woman with an ax but no one believes her and her mother takes her to a psychiatrist. But the girl tells them what she sees is not imaginary friends. At night she wakes up and scratch the walls. It goes again and again until her brother and sister do the same and they start whispering in hoarse and otherworldly voices words like 'we all die here' 'kill me' and so on.

“The mother and father have enough and one day they rebuke their children violently. They tilt their heads and pout 'why so mean father? Why did you kill us?' they say. The parents have enough and lock their children in their room. That night, both are awoken by screams of terror, hooves on the floor, creaks in the wood, scratches and whispers. Something seems to crawl between the walls. They run to the children's room, convinced it is them messing with them but when they enter, the children are shaking, frothing, levitating while their eyes are rolling in their sockets and something seems to be writing 'kill me.' 'we're all dead here'. They want to take their children and escape, but the door is locked. One of their children, without blinking, with a mad smile comes to them. 'Why did you kill me?' it asks while shooting its mother. The father takes the gun, shoot all his children and hangs himself the next day. It was in December 1920. No one ever lived here ever since.”

The man shuddered. “That is definitely worth a horror movie.”

Ingrid laughed. “Oh yes. I think our ghost knows them well but she never talks about it. Screams still echo from the Mason mansion. The bravest of the townsfolk often goes there to test their guts and all come back screaming and shaking with fright, telling of how they heard whispers, saw children and were possessed. A girl even died there in 1965 and a few of those 'braves' were kept in the asylum.”

“What about the asylum? Does it have something special?” he asked, asking more beer.

“It was a former orphanage kept by nuns. One day the whole thing burned but the doors were locked. They all burned inside and their laments still haunts the place.” Ingrid said, leaning on the counter on her elbows. “A decades later, they decided to build an asylum there. It overlooked the valley, it was remote in the wilderness. It was everything they could wish for. As much as ghosts haunted the place, it was what humans did that was the worst. The medical assistants frequently raped and tortured the poor patients coming in and they got away with it claiming their victims were insane. It was a true sex traffic and people paid to get laid there. They raped from children to old women.” she shuddered. “Speaking of it makes me gag.

“Anyway, this things lasted for decades up until the 40's. Then it stopped but started again in 1950 but instead people were tortured to death – mostly gay and trans people who were at the time considered insane. The government uncovered the whole affair by the end of the 80's and closed it, but legend has it that a patient preferred to rip off his heart and that he now haunts the asylum for hearts to eat. You hear whispers at night there. You hear screams of pain and the walls themselves reek agony and darkness. You literally go insane in that place.”

“That's ironic for an asylum.”

“Yeah.” she said. “A serial killer used to live there in the 90's. He dismembered his victims and they still haunt the place. The FBI had to come in and kill him in a truly horrific atmosphere. I wonder how many went to a psychoanalyst for treatment after what they saw and heard.” she shuddered. “Its shadow is like a ghost of ill omen, something gloomy and dark.”

“What about that forest cemetery?” he snorted. “Has it been built on a burned church?”

“Oh no.” she said with that same smile. “Worse. You see, in 1712 the village suffered a plague like nothing else, so they lacked space to bury their dead. They decided thus to bury their dead in the forest where there used to be a native town the colons burned down after they slaughtered the natives – yeah settlers were assholes. They unburied the natives' dead and threw their bones away and placed their own dead there. Now, their spirits are constantly at war and trust me I tend to be on the natives' side. Last time I went there, that native girl was punching a settler in the jaw and I was like 'yass queen!'”

“Is that all that happened in this town?” he asked.

Ingrid laughed. “Oh no! Our church used to be a temple for a satanic sect and they all committed suicide in 2000 thinking the world was ending. Those dumbasses didn't even wait for 2012!” she frowned. “Though a lot of people gathered near the witch tree to kill themselves in 2012. Also, in 1991, a lot of people committed suicide in a basement downtown. It made it to the news.”

The man frowned. “The witch tree?”

“Oh, you don't know?” she seemed excited. “Okay, so, you know that in Salem, they tried witches, right?”

“Yeah. How could I not know?” he scorned.

“Well here we had witch trials too. It was a decade after the Salem witch hunt but it still happened. As for Salem, neighbors accused their neighbors out of pettiness and greed and more than a hundred people were tried and proven guilty of witchcraft. Naturally, witches hid better than that and they sentenced but a few witches to death. So they hanged them on a knobbly massive tree – the highest of the forest - the first year and let crows eat their flesh and their body rot. It must have been horrible to see the rotting, the bones, to missing flesh, their skin falling to the ground like some kind of disgusting goo. The smell, ugh! It must have stank even to the river.

“The next year there was no space left on the tree and so they decided to burn the witches. Their screams still echo throughout the whole town, to the forest where they try to reach their sisters. Men must have been truly terrified of women to hang so many. Nowadays, strange shadows of hung witches marks the floor, whether light or not and nothing grows around the leafless tree.” she gave a mourning face for a moment. “Their curses still haunt the town and many houses that saw themselves haunted have been cursed by them. I think that they are the reason behind the burning of the Mason church.”

Pumpkin rubbed its face on her cheek. Ingrid sipped more of her tea and bit into a pumpkin bread.

“In the 70's and 80's, when the Cold War raged – or not – the town flourished with safe-houses. A guy kept a girl hostage there for about a year, feeding her nothing, torturing her. The townsfolk heard screams but they did nothing. The girl died and the guy kept doing it again and again, began to sew the corpses to trunks, make a puzzle out of his victims and was arrested a decade later. A family of cannibals also moved in in that time and killed many people before the FBI began to investigate. Then, they vanished and no one has ever heard of them since. There was also that guy who loved to skin his victims and wore their skins. He escaped just before the police got suspicious. A boy even raped girls after girls and dressed them as fairies before he called the police. We never found him either. Too clever for that, the asshole.” she took her mystic voice again. “But no case has ever been so heinous than that of Tommy Larkins.”

“What of him?” asked the man, suddenly interested.

Ingrid smiled. “Oh Timmy would tell you himself, but in Halloween he likes being left alone.”

“Is he alive?” he asked.

“Nope! But you can contact him through a Ouija board, though I advise you not to. Shit happens with that kind of planks. You never know who you can fall upon; might be a ghost, might be a demon.” she said all the more serious. “You do not want to mess with the afterlife.”

“What of Timmy, then?”

“Timmy was a black boy in the 40's who fled the South because his life was threatened by a family that saw him one day crossing their fields. You see, white people are scared of people walking.” she snorted. “Weaklings. Anyway, Timmy fled North, hoping to save his live. He lived a time in Pennsylvania but quickly got an offer in Massachusetts. So Timmy came to live here. It was a mistake. For the family he fled South had relatives here and soon, their men came from Alabama to finish the job, deeming that an unarmed man who was walking was a more dangerous threat than, say, a poltergeist or all the spirits haunting the forest. So the family came here, abducted poor Timmy, kept him locked in a basement where they beat him up to death before they hung him on a tree and watched, taking pictures in front of the dangling corpse, a most cruel interpretation of _Strange fruit_. Timmy's soul still roam the place. I give his soul sacrifice of cookies from time to time. My friend Ava likes to read him stories.”

“What happened to the men who lynched him?”

Ingrid's smile grew cruel. “You see, the witches thence are sworn protectors of this town and they do not like evil at all. Naturally, in the afterlife they try their best to protect us from spirits and killers and shit, but they can still act.” her voice grew grimmer. “They drove the men who killed Timmy insane. They tortured them with visions of horror. One of the men was found hanged on the witch tree, and another drowned in the river, his whole body swollen with water. Oh it was something to behold. Another was eaten alive by crows. Spirits have their limits.”

“It sounds very southern Gothic.”

“Maybe.” Ingrid shrugged. “The knobbly trees cast dark shadows at night. It seems dark hands are grasping at mortals. The whole forest has served as a way to hang people. If you listen close enough, you'll hear whispers here and there and they'll drive you mad. If you sleep tight at night, screams will echo and creaking in the walls will startle you to death.” she grew joyful again. “Which reminds me, we did have some people conducting a black mass in which they sacrificed children to their goat-god. Well, that's always less creepy than little Martha who killed some children before she did her baby sister and her parents. Some says she was possessed by a demon, but I say she was just nuts.”

“What?” he blanched. “A child killed...”

“Oh, I have to tell you!” Ingrid clapped in her hands. “Okay so little Martha here is seven years old. She's got piercing disturbing eyes and her mother doesn't take care of her as much as she should. Martha has always been the quiet kind of girl and often goes playing in the forest. Her mother finds out a box when she is six in which she sees bones of birds and mice and corpses of cats. She sends her to a psychiatrist and it stops. Until a year later, when baby Sue goes missing in a supermarket. Her mother goes nuts and runs around, panicked and calls the police. The police conducts an investigation but baby Sue is nowhere to be found.”

“Let me guess, Martha took her.” he snarled.

“Shhhh!” Ingrid hushed while Salem hissed. “Martha did take her, but she keeps her in an old farm. She doesn't want mommy and daddy to know, right? For days she tortures baby Sue: choking, strangling, cuts, bruises. There is no violence she hasn't done to baby Sue. Then, when she has enough, she throws her body in the river where she will be found ten days later.

“Martha loves it. She kidnaps someone again, little Kevin. She kills Kevin the same way, but plucks his eyes out. Then it is two sisters and she tortures one in front of the other and let the one she didn't kill rot there for weeks without food of water. Poor girl dies and both are found in their parents' yard. The police arrests them and off they go to prison. She does it again and again until it no longer amuses her. The whole town went mad and paranoia settled in. Then, one day, she decided to kidnap her own sister whom she skins alive and hang the skin like a canvas and writes Martha on it. The poor babe was left to die. Her parents spend days in agony until Martha decides she is tired of their wails and shoot her father and mother while they are asleep. She is found two days later, reveling in their blood.”

The man rose his eyebrows. “No wonder so many houses are haunted. This town is a real horror movie.”

“Oh yes.” Ingrid smiled. “But it stopped in 2001 and ever since it has become a touristic attraction in Halloween. My friend Ava is the tour guide. She tells the stories so magnificently.”

“Tell me, are you okay living in Horror-town?”

Ingrid laughed. “I love it! I adore Horror movies! Halloween is my favorite part of the year!”

“Well, with witches, ghosts and demons you sure are served! Tell me, do you also have werewolves and Vampires here?”

Ingrid laughed again. “No, of course not. Vampires prefer the West coast – fancier. Werewolves tend to prefer Canada. As for witches, legend has it that a few remain here. Most of witches moved down to New Orleans. It's trendier.”

The man laughed. “I don't know if you're serious or not.”

Ingrid winked. “What I know for sure is that ghosts there are many due to slavery and lynching. No wonder it has become a highly supernatural spot. Not to mention voodoo.”

“Have you ever tried Ouija?” he asked.

Ingrid took Pumpkin in her arms and he started purring. “Once.” she gloomily said. “It was with friends and we began fooling around. I lost a good friend then. She got transferred in Nebraska. Between you and I, I'd be more scared of corn, scarecrows and killer clowns. That's a whole new level of creep. Anyway, we started playing and then she started shaking around, giggling like a madwoman. I have never been more scared in my life.” she sighed.

The doorbell rang. “Shit.” Ingrid cursed. “This must be Ava. Do you mind if I cut our conversation short? I have plans tonight and...”

“No, no. Not at all.” said the man. “How much to I owe you?”

“Fifteen bucks.” Ingrid said. “You can come by tomorrow morning. We'll have soup for lunch.”

“That's tempting.” he said with a smile. “Alright.” he handed her two bills.

When she walked him to the door, she noticed that night had fallen. Red leaves and orange leaves were the same in the dark. Someone screamed upstairs which startled him.

“Shut up!” Ingrid yelled. “All right.” she turned to the man. “Have a nice Halloween. Don't eat too much candies and don't be too afraid of ghosts. Spirits are mischievous but it's nothing a good ear can't do. You'll soon realize that life down here is as sweet as can be.” she took a grave tone. “Don't linger in the forest though. In Halloween, those who enter it never return.”

The man blemished once more. “Your soup was delicious. I'll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Ingrid said opening the door. “Have a safe night! Nice flight! Save yourself tonight.”

He laughed. “You're weird.”

Ava stepped aside as the man headed for his car. “Who's that?” she pointed to where his car was a second before.

Ingrid shrugged. “A newcomer.”

Ava grinned. “Let's hope this one will last. I'm tired of living with ghosts.”

Ingrid sighed. “Yeah, I get that. In any case, it's up to us to protect mortal world against supernatural world.” she sat in the small living room, left of the stairs. “Kenzie said she will be late. Sue Helen is at it again.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Is your mom still mad at you for the creation of our coven?”

Ingrid nodded. “You know how she is. Only trueborn witches can be witches. Now she's in New Orleans with mom and they left our little gate of Halloween unprotected.”

“It's a relief we're here to take care of things.” Ava said. “Without a strong coven to repel evil, I bet this whole town would have been sucked down.” she nervously wrung her bracelet. “Any news of Sharon?”

“Still in Nebraska in that psychiatric hospital. Such a shame. She would have been a brilliant witch.”

“Yeah.” Ava said.

Ingrid stood up and walked towards her kitchen. “Well, we better start working. Did you bring that movie I told you about?”

“Yup!”

“Nice!” Ingrid pushed a shelve unit and entered a dark room much like the kitchen, herbs hanging on the walls and cauldrons ready to use. Ingrid set the TV on and slid the DVD in the DVD-player. “This is Halloween!” she sang.

“Halloween!” Ava danced around.

“Halloween! Halloween!”

“Happy Halloween!”

 

 

He pulled over in a dark alley by the forest and called someone on his cell-phone. Three dial tones and someone hung up.

“I found it.” he said.

 _“Are you sure?”_ someone asked.

“Yes. 100%.”

 _“Then you know what to do.”_ the masculine voice said over the phone.

He glanced at a shotgun on the front passenger seat. “Yes boss.”

He hung up and touched the gun.

“Witches, ghosts and faes, hide yourself, for the moon is bright and I'm coming for you.” he sang. “Happy Halloween.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> In which I was inspired to write a mini-fic for Halloween and procrastinated to write it because I am crazy and in which I let Salvation aside to write this instead of finishing that damn book and in which I wanted to tell horror stories and in which I wrote this in two days and it is likely not to be written as well as my other works since I am not that good at writing modern things and in which I hesitate to write from this prologue. Like..... I could focus on Ingrid's life in high school from her 16th birthday to the creation of her coven or I could focus on their survival with a witch-hunter among them.


End file.
